Legends of the Sky

by Liz Flanagan

  “Why?” Tarya rebelled.

  No! Not the duke. Olvar mustn’t get the eggs. Milla prayed that Nestan would listen to his daughter now.

  She heard the master’s curse as he exhaled impatiently and spelled it out to them: “He is the ruler of the city and commander of the army. Isak and I have publicly pledged our loyalty to him. Our families are about to be allied through marriage. Besides, you know how he is about dragons. Since Lanys brought the eggs to me,” he said, with a hard, bitter edge in his voice, “it’s more than all our lives are worth not to take these eggs straight to the duke.”

  Milla felt sick at the thought.

  “Couldn’t we keep just one?” Tarya said. “Say it broke.”

  Yes! Milla found herself wishing. Just the blue one. Please!

  “And what do we do if it hatches? Think it through, Tarya.”

  Milla felt a sudden lurch of anxiety at the idea of the eggs hatching without her there.

  “We could hide them, take them away to the Silk Islands,” Isak suggested.

  “Impossible.” Nestan was curt. “They must hatch here.”

  “Why?” Isak challenged his father.

  “What’s wrong with you both?” Nestan ignored the question, raising his voice. “We take them straight to the palace. The timing works—we’ve been invited to a feast there this evening to announce your betrothal to Vigo.”

  “And when were you going to tell me?” Tarya stood up—Milla heard the sharp scrape of the heavy chair across the tiled floor.

  “Today!” Nestan’s anger was finally blazing now. “So you didn’t have time to work yourself up into this kind of state.”

  “You have no faith in me,” Tarya accused him.

  “So earn it!” Nestan bellowed, and even Tarya flinched. “Act your part. And as for you, Milla: you may leave us, while I think this through.”

  Milla let out a sob. She slammed one palm across her mouth to stop any more escaping. Vision blurring with tears, she ran from the room.

  Lanys said, “I’ll go after her.”

  In the corridor, Milla felt a yank as Lanys grabbed her sleeve.

  Lanys heaved her up against the wall, almost tearing her tunic. “You’re finished,” Lanys hissed, spraying spittle. “Now I’ll be first, like I should always have been.”

  Milla tried to turn away, but Lanys held her close.

  “I’m the Norlander maid, after all. You’re nothing but a thief.” Her eyes were narrowed, her freckled face twisted with rage.

  Milla felt that cut deep, like a knife in her side. She prised Lanys’s fingers loose, tugged herself free, and ran away from them all.

  It was hard to run and cry at the same time, but Milla couldn’t help it. She had to get away. She kept seeing Nestan’s look of disappointment, Lanys’s hatred. Would the twins defend her? All those days, months, years of hard work—how much would they count for, in the light of this mistake? This deceit, he’d called it. Eventually, she could run no more. She bent double, resting her hands on her knees and sobbing out her pain, while the rain soaked her through.

  Looking after the eggs had been a new reason to wake. Her first thought and her last. She’d never had anything of her own to care for. And now they were gone.

  She sobbed harder.

  Soon Tarya would marry Vigo and go to live in the palace. Milla would see her from afar, in the crowds on feast days. And Isak would go to the Silk Islands, to learn his father’s trade. He’d come back next year to visit: tall, tanned, transformed.

  And the eggs? The idea of them hatching without her actually hurt. She didn’t know why. All she knew was that her whole body ached with loss.

  When she lifted her head and looked about her, she was back at the shadow strip, near the ruined house with the garden. She needed solitude: no surprise her feet had brought her here. Her teeth were chattering and she felt the shivers begin. She had to find shelter, fast.

  She crossed the overgrown garden of the ruined house. It reared above her, vast and intimidating. It had a large sunburst tile on the front and crumbling lettering that read VILLA DORATO. Slowly, cautiously, she put one hand against the paneled wooden door and pushed. With a deep groan of rusted hinges, the door gave way.

  Milla stepped through and paused in a dark entrance hall. It smelled damp and musty, and then worse, like a dead thing rotting slowly. Her eyes adjusted. She made out the ruined staircase, the proud curve of a slender banister strangled by a creeping vine. There were doorways on each side. She tiptoed to the right and peered in: a broken window shutter let in daylight. It was a dining room, with a table and six chairs. She stopped by the table covered in dust.

  What had happened here? This was once the home of an Old Arcosi family: prosperous, settled. They’d fled in sudden fear, or worse.

  This was the perfect place to hide. Like an injured animal, she needed somewhere dark and silent to lick her wounds. No one would look for her here.

  The wind blew through the shutters, and the ragged remnants of the curtains fluttered like an empty sleeve. Milla shuddered, suddenly afraid of what else she might find: dry bones, flesh turned to dust …

  Just then, she heard a noise: a whisper of movement, hushed into silence.

  She yelped in surprise, then felt ashamed, squeaking like a mouse. Come on, Milla, don’t be afraid. There were no ghosts. What, just like there were no dragons?

  If something happened to her, no one would ever know. She could vanish from the face of the earth. She would become one of the disappeared. Just another spirit of this island.

  Milla made her feet move toward the sound. “Hello?”

  A cool draft of air against the back of her neck, like the breath of a ghost.

  “Who’s there?” She found a door near the back of the house, and pushed it open. “Where are you?” she whispered hoarsely.

  There was a fire burning in the grate of a huge iron cooking range. There was a stone table with a chopping board, laid out. A peeled apple: fresh, intact. A knife. “Hello?” She lifted the knife and held it ready.

  She heard a sudden noise: a violent clamoring of wings. She jumped and spun around, back to the hall. It was only a crow, she told herself, nesting in the roof. Hadn’t she seen it, the other day? But she couldn’t quell her fears now. She imagined the people who’d lived here, rising around her like wraiths. Their ghostly hands in her hair. Pleading for justice.

  Her fear grew, heartbeat speeding.

  Something touched her shoulder.

  Milla screamed.

  Turning, she stood face-to-face with the old woman from the duke’s ball, looking as terrified as Milla felt.

  A while later they were sitting together by the fire.

  “What are you doing here?” Milla spoke Sartolan, guessing the people of Old Arcosi spoke it, too. “I saw you at the duke’s ball.”

  “I’ve come home,” the woman replied in the same language, huddling into her cloak. She still looked alarmed, with none of the fiery defiance from that night at the ball. Maybe she’d caught a chill, living here, all alone. She didn’t seem to recognize Milla, which seemed odd, till Milla remembered that she’d been masked at the ball.

  “Where is home: do you mean Arcosi?” Milla asked. She should ask herself the same question. Did she even have a home anymore, after today? “Or did this house belong to your family?”

  “Both.” She was obviously reluctant to say more.

  This was her family’s old house? Milla looked around. In the corner, there was a threadbare cushioned bench. A stack of dry wood.

  Milla would be the one begging her for shelter tonight. Beyond that, she couldn’t think. Her future without the eggs stretched ahead of her, like a dark, starless sky. She shivered and edged closer to the fire. “What’s your name? I’m Milla Yellowhouse.” Since she had no family, that was the name written on her papers.

  “Kara.” The woman stared at Milla, solemn and round-eyed. The gold hoops in her ears gleamed in the firelight.

&nbs
p; “The duke has men looking for you. We are supposed to bring you to him if we find you,” Milla said. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to!” she added hurriedly when Kara looked anxious.

  “I’ll be safe here,” Kara said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

  “That night … you spoke of dragons returning to Arcosi. Did you bring dragon eggs? You and that man? The one who—” Milla halted. She didn’t know if this woman knew about the murder.

  The silence expanded uncomfortably. Kara seemed frozen over. What could Milla say, to make her thaw and trust her? She took out her medal and showed it to her. “You saw this, before. Do you know it?”

  The sight of the medal worked like a spell, transforming everything. Kara sprang to life.

  “Where did you get that?” she asked with piercing intensity. “Is it yours?”

  She leaned forward and grasped Milla’s chin, tilting her face to the light of the fire.

  “Yes, it’s mine. It’s the only thing that is.” Milla shook her hand away, not enjoying the feeling of being examined like a young goat at the market. “I’ve always had it.”

  “So tell me! The eggs? What do you know of them, child?” Kara’s hand shot out and this time grabbed Milla’s arm, making her jump. “Did he bring them to you?”

  “To me?” Milla gulped. “I saw them,” she said, a wave of shame flooding through her, “but now they’re gone. I’m sorry. I tried …”

  “Where?” Kara squeezed her arm so hard it hurt. “Where have they gone?”

  “Nestan took them,” Milla said. “They’ll be at the palace right now. They’ve gone, without me.” Her voice wavered like a candle in a draft. “And I don’t know if I’ll see them again …”

  “Why didn’t you say? Hurry, child, hurry! Why did you let them out of your sight?” Kara’s voice was so furious, it left no room for disbelief. “They’ll be hatching soon—tonight’s the full moon—and you must be there …”

  “Wh-wh-at? Why me? How do you know?” A dozen more questions burned in her mind.

  “We brought them home for this. They hatch at full moon and that means tonight. Time is running out. Go! Go now. Quickly, find the eggs and don’t let them out of your sight again!”

  “Now?” Milla struggled for words, her mind a turmoil of excitement and confusion. “What should I do?”

  “Go to the eggs!” Kara issued a stream of instructions. “Listen to me: with no living parent, the hatchlings must bond quickly, and you must be in the room. One will choose you. When it hatches, go to it. Speak to it. Warm it, feed it meat, let it drink. The hatchlings must be kept warm. All will be well, but go now. You haven’t got long. Hurry!” Her urgency spilled over into distress. “And don’t utter a word of this! Tell no one.”

  “All right, I’ll go. I’ll keep quiet.” Her words burned, bright and vivid, in Milla’s mind, spurring her on, showing her the path to her heart’s desire.

  Then she paused, looking back at Kara huddling there by the fire. She couldn’t abandon her, alone in the storm. “But what about you?”

  “What about me? There’s no time!”

  “I will do as you say, I promise, as long as you come with me. We need to get you warm and safe. You can’t stay here, it’s too dangerous, with the duke’s men looking for you.”

  “And you can’t wait!” Kara urged.

  Milla shook her head stubbornly. “I won’t go without you.”

  “You don’t understand!” Kara looked ready to burst with impatience. “Oh, very well, then.”

  They both headed back out into the storm. Milla blessed the bad weather for keeping everyone else—including the patrols—indoors. The wind tugged at their hair and clothes, and Milla’s mind felt stormy and wild to match.

  Were the eggs really hatching? Either way, she burned to get back to them, but she couldn’t turn up at the palace like this: they’d never let her in. As they stumbled away from Villa Dorato, a plan started forming in her mind.

  She hurried home to the Yellow House and took Kara straight to the kitchen.

  They burst in, wet and breathless, startling Josi, who dropped a jar of pickled plums, smashing ruby juice and pink flesh all over the stone floor.

  “I’m sorry!” Milla’s words poured out in a torrent. “This is Kara. Can you hide her here, please?” she begged.

  It wouldn’t be the first time Josi had hidden a fugitive from the duke’s idea of justice. Milla always pretended not to notice when the back storage room was suddenly out of bounds. She’d ignore the whispers in Sartolan; take care to keep Lanys out of the kitchen; and after a day or two, the invisible guests were always gone.

  “The duke’s soldiers are searching the island for her.” She met Josi’s gaze: they both knew what that meant. “Kara will explain. I need to run, to get to the palace … Please?”

  Josi didn’t say a word, her face shocked and silent. She just nodded and passed Milla the plate she’d been eating from.

  Milla took it and rushed upstairs. She got changed into Tarya’s old purple dress and a matching cloak, seizing all the scattered items Tarya had forgotten: scarf, pearl necklace, fan. She grabbed the food Josi had given her—a roll of bread and a slice of chicken—and tried to eat a mouthful. It was dry and she almost choked on it in her haste, so she stuffed it into the pocket of her dress for later. She lifted down a glass vial of Isak’s medicine from the shelf and unstoppered it: checking its freshness, breathing in the scent of ginger and honey. Isak always forgot it. That’s why Nestan kept servants: to remember the small things. Isak needed to take his medicine whenever the weather turned wet, or at times of stress or excitement.

  He’d definitely be needing it tonight.

  There was a break in the storm clouds. The moon appeared: full and bright, painting the island silver and black, showing Milla the way.

  The eggs will hatch tonight! The eggs will hatch tonight! It was the strongest thought in Milla’s mind, pulsing along with the beat of her blood. Stronger than fear, stronger than her worry about Nestan’s reaction or the mystery of Kara’s words. It kept her going, all the way up the steep road to the palace, through two checkpoints, all the way to the palace gates. They stretched above her: vast, iron-studded doors. Most definitely locked. The wind whipped her hair across her eyes, and she pulled it back into a knot, jutting her chin and stretching up to ring the bellpull.

  “Yes?” A small window opened in the huge expanse of oak.

  Milla could barely see the guard’s face in the darkness beyond. She mustered all the courage she had, throwing her voice from the pit of her stomach, and copying Tarya in her most imperious mood. “I need to come in! My lady is here for the betrothal feast, and she needs me.”

  “Oh, she does, does she? I don’t think so.”

  Milla kept her face steady, refusing to show how it stung, always, to be dismissed at first sight. She had to convince them she was more than she seemed. The stakes were too high to fail tonight.

  “Who is it?” a new voice spoke from behind the first man.

  “Another lower-town gannet. Always pecking around for scraps, that lot. Ignore her.”

  “Lady Tarya Thornsen won’t be happy when she hears you kept her maid outside in the storm,” she drawled, in her best Norlandish. “Every moment you keep me waiting, you keep her waiting. You do know she’ll be the next Duchess of Arcosi? Not such a wise move.”

  “Let me see.” The second man came to the door.

  Milla swallowed. If they turned her away now, that was it. She couldn’t scale these walls. The eggs would hatch without her. She’d have to tell Kara she’d failed. The duke would own the dragons. Nestan would send her away. Her thoughts spiraled fast: she pictured a lonely life, living in the ruins, scavenging for food, begging Thom and Rosa for work. No! With her heart beating so fast she was sure the man could hear it over the wind, she raised her eyes to his and tried another tack.

  “Evening, sir,” she began again with this new guard. “The thing i
s, my lady changed her mind and sent me back for her favorite necklace. If I don’t get it to her soon, I’m in for a beating,” she lied, widening her eyes. She felt under her cloak and lifted out the pearls. “Look! See?” She watched the guard consider the evidence. “Please, let me through and I can dress my lady before the dinner, and no harm done,” she said earnestly. “Also, I have Master Isak’s medicine.” She rummaged for the glass vial and held that up, too.

  The guard hesitated. He scowled, ready to turn away.

  “Wait!”

  Milla’s hand flew to her necklace, the habit of a lifetime. Her fingers stroked the gold medal with the imprint of the dragon and the full moon. Her only possession. The only way of tracing her family. She felt sick at the thought of giving it up. She couldn’t do it.

  The guard started closing the window.

  She had no time and no choices left.

  “Wait, please!” Milla closed her eyes, steeling herself. With reluctant fingers, she unfastened the necklace. She stared down at the gold medal in her palm, gleaming in a sudden shaft of moonlight. She brought it to her lips one last time.

  Then she folded her fingers over it and held it out. “Take this,” she made herself say. It was the only link with her past, and she felt it snap like a broken chain. She gambled her past for the sake of her future.

  “For your trouble, sir,” she said through gritted teeth, and handed over the ancient gold medal, blinking away tears.

  “Let her through.” The guard winked at her and palmed the gold. “She’s right: they’ve only just reached the palace. Let her through, but escort her all the way, do you hear me?”

  “Thank you, sir.” Milla nodded her head demurely, listening to the bolts being drawn back and the heavy gates swinging aside over the cobbles. Two more guards waited on the other side. She threw a smile at them, but it was like smiling at a stone wall.

  They walked swiftly through the palace grounds. Last time, Milla was with invited guests, part of the jeweled throng. This time she felt like a prisoner. The guards marched her up the steps, through a vast hallway with a massive curving staircase and into the great hall of the palace.